Drunken Haze
by The Maze Writer
Summary: A continuation on the prompt made in my story "12 months" "As PJ and Chris entered the front room, they could smell the scent of alcohol and throw-up hanging thick it the air." "Dan was living with a ghost, one that was slowly consuming him."


…

They knew where the spare key was.

Dan wasn't answering his phone.

They didn't have any choice.

As soon as they entered the front room, they could smell the scent of alcohol and throw-up hanging thick it the air.

A retching mess lay on the couch.

"Dan, what have you done to yourself?" Chris groaned.

"Nuffing g-guys. Get out my apartmenttttttttt" he slurred.

"No Dan. You're still blind drunk. Let us help you," begged PJ.

Dan wanted to protest but he was to out of it to do so.

They sat him up on the couch, grabbing some paper towel out of the kitchen to wipe the throw-up off his face, steadying his head as they did so.

As soon as they let go of his head however, it lolled to the side, drool falling out the side of his mouth as a snore emanated from him throat.

PJ and Chris looked and each other. They had never seen someone _that_ drunk before.

Gently, PJ slapped the side of Dan's face.

"Dan? Hey, buddy, wake up."

"Humph." Dan groaned.

"Hey there. Now, can you drink this glass of water to me?"

Dan's eyes didn't open as he sloshed half the water down his shirt and the other half of it down his throat.

"There, maybe that'll help get the alcohol out of your system."

Dan didn't respond, just coughed as the liquid stung his sore throat.

PJ turned to Chris.

"Can you get him a new shirt? He shouldn't be sitting in his own sick like that."

Chris nodded, retreating into Dan room. He returned to the room a second later, brandishing a new black shirt.

Together they pulled the soiled shirt off Dan's chest, placing it immediately into the trash can.

They tugged the new one over his head, pulling it over his torso.

Dan just lay limp, something he definitely wouldn't have done in the same situation if he was sober.

Suddenly his eye shot open, staring at his friends in a panic. He pushed their hands away sloppily and tried to stand up, almost falling into the coffee table as he tripped over himself.

Chris reached out and steadied him, but Dan shoved the hand away, stumbling down the hall.

Unfortunately, he was still drunk out of his mind, so instead of making it to his destination he fell flat on his face.

PJ and Chris rushed to his side and picked him up.

"I-I'm gonna be sick-k," Dan moaned.

They dragged him to the bathroom and leaned him over the toilet, watching him dry retch into the toilet bowl.

When he slumped over it, they took it to mean he was done and half-dragged, half-carried him to bed.

They lifted into it and as soon as his head hit the pillow he was out, snoring.

When he was safely in his bed, they left, going out into the hallway to check the rest of the apartment.

It looked abandoned.

Empty cupboards, dusty furniture, and a pile of unopened mail in the corner.

When they went over to inspect the mail they saw their own condolence letters and packages, along with many others.

Dan was living with a ghost, one that was slowly consuming him.

As they walked back towards Dan's bedroom, they passed a door with dust thick on the hinges.

The breath seemed to catch in their throats. They looked at each other, face's paling.

Phil's room.

PJ gingerly reached out a hand, opening the door as they both stepped inside.

It looked exactly the same as it always had.

Messy bed, crammed cabinets, tripod leaning against the wall.

Everything was so… bright.

It was like nothing was different.

A scream interrupted their thoughts and they both turned and rushed back into Dan's room.

There was Dan, thrashing on the bed, tears pouring out his eyes.

"PHIL," he shrieked.

Both men kneeled down on the corner of the bed and tried to restrain the taller man's erratic movements before he hurt himself.

After all, he was drunk and delusional.

"PHIL, COME BACK, PHIL!" Dan screamed, his voice cracking.

"Shush, Dan," Chris tried to sooth.

Dan stopped thrashing and sat up, grabbing Chris's wrist and looking him, then PJ in the eyes, tears bubbling in his wide eyes.

"Where's Phil? Can you get him?"

They both swallowed lumps that had suddenly rose in their throats.

"We, uh, Phil isn't here Dan." PJ stuttered.

Dan looked like a kid who had just been told his dog died.

"Oh, right." He said, face falling.

He stared down and the bedsheets, watching his tears stain the white sheets.

There was silence for a moment.

"Did you have a nightmare?" asked Chris quietly.

"No," Dan yawned, laying back down more from exhaustion then tiredness. Tear tracks traced his cheeks.

"The real nightmares begin when I wake up."


End file.
